


Dead Man's Party

by itsfrantastic



Category: DC Comics, DC Extended Universe, Glee, Justice League, Justice League - All Media Types, Man of Steel (2013), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Anti klaine, F/F, M/M, Multi, anti diana, kurt/hal/barry as best friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:02:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsfrantastic/pseuds/itsfrantastic
Summary: Kurt knows he is a sobbing, sprawling mess. Why wouldn’t he be? His husband is dead. Or dying, or whatever, and Hal Jordan won’t let him go, won’t let him run to Clark’s side, to hold his hand, to let him know how loved he is.





	1. It's A Dead Man's Party

 

_“I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. Walkin' with a dead man over my shoulder”_

_"Dead Man’s Party" — Oingo Boingo_

Kurt Hummel is screaming. He is faintly aware of the sound of his own voice—but he can’t quite place the others. A gentle voice is telling him to calm down and soft soothing words are being whispered in his ears. He feels someone attempting to run their hands through his hair. He tries to shake them off. He wants to run towards the body that is half covered on the floor, wants to keep screaming till someone makes that body stand up. Kurt wants Clark to smile at him the way he always does, wants Clark to pick him up, toss him over his shoulder and fly to their favorite pizza place in Italy, or to Disney for a romantic evening away. But Clark won’t because Clark is dead—or at least not moving.

Kurt knows he is ugly when he cries, has known that fact since he was seven years old and his mother was dead. Has known that since he’s stared at himself in the mirror, hating himself for being too feminine, hating himself for being the object of negative attention. He hates the shape of his teeth too and his teeth are on full display as he cries. Kurt knows that he is a spectacle in front of the entire Justice League. Kurt knows he is a sobbing, sprawling mess. Why wouldn’t he be? His husband is dead. Or dying, or whatever, and Hal Jordan won’t let him go, won’t let him run to Clark’s side, to hold his hand, to let him know how loved he is.

Kurt isn’t sure when he realized that it was, in fact, Hal who was holding him tightly. The sound of the room comes rushing back in an incredible boom, but Kurt has traded one thing for the other and as soon as he can hear again his legs give out. He falls. Hal comes down right there with him, his arms move to hold Kurt’s chest down, and he’s bear-hugging Kurt in an attempt to stop Kurt from running towards the body.

Diana screams something too. She’s screaming for someone to shut him up—Kurt has never hated her more. 

Clark hasn’t moved, and crimson colored blood pools around his wounds. His uniform is torn, some of it lay in tatters. Kurt hand stitched the S on once, careful nimble fingers working with an unknown Kryptonian fabric after a chance encounter with Metallo had torn it. It wasn’t as strong as the wearer, and more often than not Clark came home with some form of rip or tear. Kurt became his personal tailor. Eventually, it led to Kurt doing all the uniform work for the rest of the league. Kurt was intimate with fabrics, with patterns, with designs, and he loved being able to be a source of pride for Clark.

Kurt’s hands twitch, he wants to run to that costume, take each little ripped piece and save it for when Clark would want it stitched back together again. He wasn’t sure if Clark would wear that red and blue once more.

“Shh, shh, Kurtie,” Hal says in his ear.

“Wha—what? Clark!” Kurt says again, this time relaxing against Hal’s grip. He wants Hal to loosen his hold so he can escape, can crawl next to the body of his lover and swear and hope and bargain and pray, but Hal knows his friend and doesn’t let him go.

 

 

* * *

Kurt can’t stand their stupid looks of sympathy. The Junior members of the league avoid him when he’s in the watchtower. They stop by his office to hand over their costumes and uniforms and barely look him in the eyes. He wants to scream, wants to shake them and force them to do something. He wants to beg Zatanna to perform a spell, to ask Shazam if he can make something happen. Kurt knows that’s not true, knows nothing can be done besides living every day in Clark’s memory, doing everything for him, but it’s hard. The hardest thing he’s ever done. He spends more time alone, more time in his office at the Watchtower, more time sewing, and crafting and building. Less time singing, less time dreaming, less time dancing. The light in Kurt’s life is gone.

One day, Batman is in the watchtower. Kurt’s only ever interacted with him a few times. He didn’t show up to their wedding, and Clark had told him not to sweat it, that _The Bat_ only likes Diana and his Robins. Kurt is sitting in the common room, sipping on coffee and drawing designs for Dinah’s new heeled boots. He’s going to hand stitch the leather and add intricate patterns. He’s hoping one of the spellcasters can spell them to not hurt as much—when he hears a voice. Two Robins are standing near him. One of them looks to be no younger than a boy. (Kurt has his own opinions on that, but always voiced them to Clark, now they swim around in his head with no one there to listen.)

“You are the lover of the Kryptonian,” the Robin says.

Kurt glances up quite sharply, the other Robin takes a sharp breath and grasps hold of the shoulders of the boy.

“I am, yes,” Kurt says slowly. Eyes rapidly blinking away the surge of tears that are threatening to flow.

“I am sorry for this loss you carry,” the Robin speaks in a monotonous voice.

Kurt can’t place his accent but knows he is young by the squeak that he hears at the end of the sentences. Puberty can oftentimes be a bitch.

“Robin,” the older one says, hesitant, but allowing the younger boy to have his space.

“I’m Kurt. Kurt Hummel. I uh - I tailor the costumes. For - for the league,” Kurt finishes and wipes his eyes with a quick hand.

“Red Robin, this one is Robin.  It’s nice to meet you. You gave our brother a nice update to his Nightwing suit. Reinforced Kevlar and military grade spandex with the feel of cotton? Way sick.”

“Thank you. I had to ask a lot of questions. Green Arrow helped come up with that design. The armor and stuff isn’t my specialty.”

Red Robin nods. Robin looks like he wants to say something. Kurt has gotten used to seeing facial expressions through moving domino masks, or large face cowls. He can tell body language more now, after being surrounded by people who hide their face and identity in unique ways.

“Boys!” the Batman says, his voice booms across the common area and Kurt resists the urge to shudder.

“Father,” the younger one says as the older one turns around and follows the Bat. Robin gives Kurt one last pitying look, a linger of sympathy laced with suspicion. Kurt wants to crawl out of his own skin.

 

* * *

 

They day they got married, Kurt wept for hours. His first marriage to Blaine had ended in fights, neglect and emotional manipulation. Clark was nothing like his ex, and even though Kurt felt like he was jumping in too quickly, he couldn’t help himself. Clark was everything he ever wanted. He was caring, compassionate, considerate.

Brittany laughed and said “he’s all the C adjectives, Kurtie! Marry the man.”

Clark was a resplendent ray of love and attention, and his light was always shining brightly on Kurt.

Sometimes they fought, they argued and they both got moody, but Clark never reacted the way Blaine did, and Kurt never felt like Clark might walk out and fuck another man in his place. He felt safe, secure, supported. Even when they screamed at each other because Clark left his boots by the door, or stayed out too late working on an assignment, or did something reckless in a fight, or Kurt wouldn’t stop watching his reality shows till all hours of the night, or left glitter and foundation on the furniture, or refused to actually go out and feed the horses—they still loved each other. They were completely different people and yet just fit like perfect puzzle pieces.

“He’s all the s words too, Kurt. He’s all the words all the time, isn’t he?” Brittany asked. Kurt had nodded and smiled, and that was it.

The wedding was large, it wasn’t anything like Kurt’s first one. Ma Kent had grown all the flowers herself, and Kurt planned it to a perfect tee. Burt and Carol were there, and Kurt was sad to see that Finn wasn’t, but he knew he would have loved being a groomsman. Bruce Wayne paid for the wedding, and Clark had refused several times until Kurt begged and begged to let Bruce pay for the chandeliers, and the table decorations, and just about every fancy thing Kurt could pick out of a magazine. Kurt picked Rachel to be his maid of honor, and Jimmy Olsen was Clark’s best man. The wedding party consisted of all of  Kurt’s closest friends from school and members of the league that Clark had grown close to. Kurt didn’t know everyone’s identities, but the ones he did know were an absolute delight to have at his wedding.

They said their vows, and their _I Do’s_ , and the reception afterward was as beautiful as Kurt had wanted.

* * *

Hal Jordan and Kurt had become unlikely allies, and wherever Hal was, came Barry, so those three became an inseparable trio. Kurt takes to thinking of when he had Clark as Before, and when he didn't as After. Before, the three of them were fast friends, pranking each other, seeing musicals, going to dance clubs. The period he referred to as After was dark, lonely, and difficult. Hal and Barry stayed away until they didn’t.

“Kurt! Open the fucking door, kiddo!” Hal says, voice brusque and hands pounding on the front door of their suburban home.

Kurt hears him from the cocoon of pillows and blankets on the couch. He wears one of Clark's old farm flannels nearly all the time.  The best ones are worn and soft, and he keeps them smelling like Clark by spraying them with his old cologne. Kurt doesn’t really want to open the door, doesn’t really want to move, he prefers to sit on their old leather couch and wallow. Wants to chase his blues away with a bottle of whiskey and a glass of ros _e_ , but Kurt knows that if he doesn’t open the door Hal will just open it himself, and if Hal is there then so is Barry, and Barry can phase himself through anything if he wanted to.

When Kurt opens the door Barry is sitting on one of the old rocking chairs on the porch and Hal is holding Chinese takeout and is looking far more determined than Kurt has remembered seeing him in a while.

“Boys,” Kurt says after a beat. His voice is deeper than normal, he hasn’t spoken out loud in a while.

Barry looks up quickly and scrambles to his feet.  “Kurt!” He gushes, worry obvious in his eyes.

Some part of Kurt feels bad for making his friends worry, for not contacting them, for retreating into his bubble, but another part of Kurt just wants everyone to leave him alone. Kurt knows he is comfortable with loss. The loss of his mother, loss of his brother, the loss of his relationship with Blaine, he knows how to handle it. Grief and Kurt go hand in hand and yet the loss of Clark seems to hit him the hardest. It’s not only Kurt that is suffering. It’s the rest of the world, and Kurt can not place that. He can’t figure out a way to deal with that knowledge, knowing not only that he has lost the love of his life but someone out there lost their savior.

“Bar, Hal. You boys look good,” Kurt manages to say.

Hal has a steely look in his green eyes.  The look he uses for criminals, for villains. He’s not here to take anyone’s bullshit, certainly not Kurt’s. If this were Before, Kurt would be insulted that Hal was using that look with him but now he doesn’t even have the energy. Kurt knows what that look means so he steps aside and lets them both through the door.

“Fuck,” Hal says as he stares at the mess that is Kurt and Clark’s living room. It smells like old food and the musk of expensive cologne. Clothes and trash litter the floor in strewn out patterns and nothing is the same as it was before.

Barry shuts the door and zooms over to the garbage can. “Take a shower, Kurt, we’ll take care of this.”

Kurt thinks about saying no and maybe Hal can tell that because his right hand glows a brighter green than his eyes and Kurt knows he will use the _will_ to force him in the shower so he shrugs his shoulders and goes.

* * *

“You were a poor partner for a warrior like Kal El. You were always too soft, too feminine. Men should be like men,” Diana says, haughty attitude and arms crossed.

Kurt hasn’t been out in public in a while, hasn’t been going to his office since the encounter with the Robins but after the intervention from Hal and Barry, he’s decided he must. Before Clark always protected him and Kurt knew that. They had many conversations about Diana and her obvious disapproval of their relationship.  Clark chalked it up to her being jealous, but Kurt knew it was more than that.

Staring at her leaning casually against the control panel in the watch room, Kurt finds new courage he hasn’t had since Before. How dare she start an argument in front of senior members of the league.  How dare she say such awful things to him when he is still obviously grieving. Because yes his hair is done and his outfit is immaculate, and he found a great way to pair Clark’s large blue flannel with Kurt’s favorite pair of white doc martens and a fantastic brooch he got when he was still editor at _Elle_ , but the man is still weeping for his husband, and that’s really what it boils down to. He feels rage surge in his veins, and he wants to make her see, make them _all_ see.

“I don’t know why you don’t fucking like me, but I’ve dealt with bitchier bitches than you in high-school. You may be a Queen, or whatever, but baby, so am I. You can take your stank ass looks, your dead-end hair, and rainforest perfume and fuck off. You might be better than me, you’re obviously stronger than me, and sure maybe once upon a time you had a taste of my man before I did, but Clark? His name is Clark by the way—chose _me._ Not you. Me. Kurt Elizabeth Hummel from Lima, Ohio. Kurt Elizabeth Hummel with a degree in Vocal Performance and a Minor in design, Kurt who worked at Vogue, Kurt who was the fashion editor at Elle. Kurt who is gay. Kurt who is feminine. Kurt who topped Clark when he wanted it. Kurt who married another man and can rebuild a custom engine by scratch. You don’t know me, Princess, and you sure as hell didn’t know Clark.”

Diana makes a dangerous step forward, and Kurt immediately raises an eyebrow. He hasn’t been afraid of anyone since Dave Karofsky, and even though Diana could break him in half with her pinkie finger, he will never surrender.

“—and another thing, your fashion sense is truly, truly, appalling but it’s not as bad as your personality.  We could have had a friendship! We could have helped each other! But you do not like me because what? Because I’m gay? A feminine man? Because I’m not a physical match for Clark? Get over yourself!”

Before Diana can respond, Hal marches over to Kurt and takes a gentle hand of his arm.

“Say anything else, Diana, and you’ll deal with me and Barry,” He says.

Kurt feels loved by his friend and sees Barry wink at him from the side of the room where he is standing by Arthur and feels a little bit safer and at ease.

* * *

It’s been months since the funeral—a horrible scene that Kurt barely remembers. He knows Santana held his hand, and that his Dad forced him to eat, that even Blaine showed up and offered his condolences, but he can’t remember what he did, what he wore, what he said. It is a horrible black hole in his memory and Kurt never wants to remember— and Kurt has just begun to find a semblance of new normalcy.  

Kurt is working on restitching the wing slots for Hawkman’s costume when he feels a shadow in the doorway to his workroom. He glances up to see the young Robin.

“Hello Robin,” Kurt says, he’s biting the needle he’s holding and his fingers are covered in small cuts.

The Robin stares at him before his shoulders slump. Kurt is reminded that he is just a boy.

“I believe that the Kryptonian is alive,” the Robin says and Kurt’s entire body freezes.

“Father and Wonder Woman discuss things sometimes after a date. My Brothers and I like to play a game where we see how long we can eavesdrop before they discover our location. Red Robin and Red Hood do not wish for me to disclose this information to you, but I would be regretful if I did not do so.”

Kurt can no longer feel his legs but he stands up slowly and grips the side of his work table for balance.

“Tell me everything,” he whispers to the boy in front of him and the Robin does.

* * *

 

Kurt is a man on a mission. He plans on sewing the softest blanket for that Robin or asking Nightwing what things his youngest brother would like because he has never been more grateful to anyone on the planet. He texts Hal and Barry immediately, accusatory things he only mildly regrets, but he needs to know if his best friends stood idly by and watched him suffer, watched him mourn and scream and starve himself.

He gets a phone call from Barry five minutes after he reads the text.

“Kurt,” Barry begins. Voice obviously frantic and urgent, and Kurt knows he’s either running or phasing through something.

“I promise I didn’t know, bro. I swear I didn’t. I don’t know about Hal but he would have told me, right? I mean, he would have told me? And I would have told you! I promise! Shit, Kurt. This is major bad. If my boyfriend is keeping something that big from me then what else is he keeping? Do you think he’s cheating? When Iris was cheating on me she kept so many secrets and I was never fast enough to figure them out!  Oh man, I’m sorry, why am I worried about whether or not Hal is cheating when you’re dealing with something so huge, man. Shit, Kurt. Shit. Diana can be a bitch sometimes, man, but she’s a good person and I never thought she would do this, everyone knows Bruce is a dick but he loves his kids and he loves the league and fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did I say his name, oh fuck? Ignore that. Ignore everything I’ve ever said and—”

Kurt looks up and finds Barry standing in front of him. Lab Coat still on from his day job and hair a muss from the wind.

“Batman is Bruce Wayne, huh?” Kurt asks and Barry’s face turns two shades paler.

“To be honest, Bar, I don’t really care about anything other than finding my husband. Are you in?”

“Yes, yes, yes, of course, fuck, of course.”

* * *

 

 


	2. Who Could Ask For More?

Kurt, Barry, and Hal are sitting in Kurt’s living room, and Kurt is a ball of anxiety. A thousand things run through his head but in the end, he always settles on one singular fact: Wonder Woman lied to him, and she is cruel. He wrestles with this. Is it the fact that she intentionally lied to keep Kurt away from Clark? Or is it that this knowledge was so new, and so fresh, that she simply made an executive decision to spare the rest of the League? Kurt doesn’t know and as he and his two best friends are making a strategy.

“We can’t go back to the Watchtower until we know who is or isn’t involved,” Hal says, and Barry solemnly nods in agreement.

Kurt doesn’t care if he ever goes back to that wretched, infested, den of lies.  It’s clear now that Clark was the truth and justice that inhabited the League—but that’s not fair, because he’s always gotten along with Shayera, and Dinah, and sometimes he helps Billy with his French homework—and he’s wondering why he ever thought it was his home.

He reaches for his phone and immediately texts Santana. He needs comfort, familiarity, and he needs someone to look out for him now; he asks her to come to stay with him.

“Boys,” he says after he puts the phone down. “What if the kid is wrong?” he asks.

Robin told him that he overheard that Clark had been in a stasis of sorts, a Kryptonian coma and that he was being housed at first in the Batcave, and then in a facility that only Diana knew about.

Despite the fact that Kurt’s first thought would have been to place him somewhere with open sunlight, or the fortress of solitude, and his third option would have been the farm, where he would have both his husband and his mother, and sunshine for days with clear Kansas skies—but clearly Diana knew best.

And really, how dare any of them to presume to know a single thing about Kryptonian anatomy, and surely they should have waited—a day, two, a month—before they declared the strongest alien in the world _dead._

Part of him was longing to curl up on the couch and watch the latest season of _Versailles_ with Clark, to travel to a new city and pick out an outfit for each other like they were wont to do, or even spend a day with Martha—and he had been ignoring her, and she had been calling him and sending him flowers, clearly desperate to have his comfort and companionship.

But now all he could think of was the body of his beloved, lying empty and cold on some slab while doctors that Diana approved of poked and prodded at his beautiful, impenetrable skin.

“I mean, it’s possible. We saw his body, but at the same time . . . it’s Clark. I mean, he’s a fucking alien from space,” Barry says.

Kurt sees a text back from Santana: _i’m coming_ , it says. He is relieved.

“No, no, I think he’s telling the truth. Bruce doesn’t raise liars, and besides, what would he have to gain from telling you fake news? Jollies? No. Diana is stalwart in her belief system, and Bruce does whatever the fuck he wants to do when he wants to do it,” Hal says as he draws a map of the watchtower. He places small circles in the corner where the video cameras are and slides it over to Barry.

Barry taps on a section and Hal makes a note. Kurt isn’t sure what they’re doing exactly, he hasn’t had time to process his own feelings let alone an action plan. After all, he doesn’t have any powers, any skills besides the sai’s and his extremely flexible limbs. He can’t save the day, and he knows he can’t save Clark, not without other meta-humans by his side.

But Kurt knows he isn’t without some power, after all, he clawed his way up with the best of them, and he knows how to finesse an answer out of anyone.

 

* * *

 

Santana shows up the next day, and Quinn follows a day after. He hadn’t expected two-thirds of the _unholy trinity,_ but he is grateful nonetheless. Santana and Quinn started dating shortly after the Wemma wedding (the first one), and they had gone on a few double-dates with Kurt and Clark.

Kurt has to explain about the dead-husband-not-being-dead once they get there, and he knows Clark isn’t going to be happy he spilled the my-husband-is-actually-Superman-beans without him,

Santana complains about being in Smallville only once, (Quinn gives her a glare, and that is enough) but she cleans the entire kitchen and forces Kurt to eat a healthy breakfast.

“So,” Quinn says as she slides into a seat in front of Hal. “What are we going to do?”

“We?” Barry sputters. He chokes on his toast.

“Yes, _we_. Kurt is our family!” Quinn says.

Hal signs and nods. “We need Green Arrow’s keys. He keeps them in his quiver when he’s on site, and then leaves them in his office when he’s not. When Bats and Supes aren’t on site, he’s in charge of mission assignments and unlocking all the portals and doors.”

“On site?” Santana asks.

“He means on the watchtower in space,” Kurt responds.

Santana’s mouth opens, but she doesn’t say anything for a beat.

“I have an idea!” Santana calls from the kitchen nook. The idea to sneak Quinn into the watchtower posed as Black Canary is little more than an excuse to see Quinn dressed in Dinah’s leathers, but it’s smart. They all agree.

* * *

 

 Quinn sneaks into the watchtower with Barry and Hal by her side and manages to steal Ollie’s keys to the Lab. Luckily she never runs into Green Arrow and therefore doesn’t have to deal with that nastiness, but more than one junior leaguer tries to engage her in conversation and she fakes having a cold.

Hal uses the keys to unlock the control room as Barry disables the cameras. They have five minutes before Bruce sends one his boys to investigate, and ten before he comes down himself.

Kurt logs in using Diana’s username and password (and he had to yell at Donna to get it, and he’s sorry for that, really. Donna’s a good kid.)

They find out exactly where Diana is housing Clark, then the alarm bell rings, and they immediately run out of the lab and into a portal before the portals are disabled.

 

* * *

 

It takes less than five minutes for Barry to plug the location into the GPS of his Chevy Tahoe—he’s jittery and constantly phasing through the passenger-side seat—and Hal drives.

Kurt begged and pleaded Santana and Quinn not to come; Santana poured vodka shots and downed them in succession—one after the other—when Quinn finally managed to convince her that no-meant-no. Kurt took a shot too—if only to calm his already beating heart.

The drive to the facility in the heart of Metropolis took less than an hour. The second of Diana’s many mistakes was placing Clark’s body in a _CADMUS_ lab six blocks from the Daily Planet. Stupidity, he thought, was a plague that happened to everyone.

They get there and Kurt takes several deep breaths as Hal and Barry make quick work of the guards and the cameras. Barry’s by the side of the door, he reaches into the glove compartment and grabs a protein bar to munch on as he waits for Kurt to compose himself.

“We have two minutes before the league gets here,” he says casually.

Time means nothing for the man that can literally move through it. Kurt wants to scream, but he cannot, and so instead he climbs out of the car and shuts the door. The night air is cold, and he feels that his world lacks the rich color that is Clark. If Robin was wrong, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to breathe again.

Hal slowly floats down, his nose is bleeding, and Kurt is worried that he’ll have to fight his friends—no, _colleagues,_ because Kurt is Hal’s _friend_ , but not his colleague.

Barry runs his hand through Hal’s brown locks. It’s a small gesture, an intimate display of affection that makes Kurt’s chest tighten. He doesn’t want Barry to Hal to lose the League for him. It isn’t their day jobs (the monetary stipend they each get yearly from sponsors is nice, and certainly helps them pay bills) but it’s still something incredibly important and Kurt would hate to be the cause of that loss.

Suddenly there’s a _whoosh,_ and Kurt looks up to see a bat-plane hovering in the sky.

“Time to move boys,” Hal says. He breaks the front-door moments later.

* * *

 

Barry went to scour every available room in the lab ahead of Hal and Kurt. He is the fastest, and therefore the wisest choice.  He leads them to a room in the very back before the League is hot on their heels.

Kurt hears Hal yelling at Diana, hears her shrill voice and lilting accent, he can feel the Bat at his back but he pushes forward. Kurt opens the door.

“Holy-fucking-shit, I thought he was _dead_ ,”  Aquaman says.

But the brown-haired boy hadn’t realized the entire league would come for this, and a part of him feels vindicated. They’ll all see what Diana has done.

Kurt sees Clark’s naked body on a cold steel slab in the middle of the lab. He can’t breathe and takes several steps forward to run his hands across his chest. Clark is cold, colder than he ever is, and Kurt immediately knows what he needs to do.

“You idiot!” he calls to Diana. “You absolute, insufferable, idiot! He needs sunlight! Aquaman help me, please.”

If Clark’s body had been in this lab since the incident then the building had to have been lined with lead.

Rage scratches itself at the surface of Kurt’s mind. It claws his way around his urge for peace; he wants to punch Diana—he’ll break his hand if he does that, so he doesn't.

Aquaman jumps over the table and takes Clark’s right arm. The Atlantean levels a glare at Diana as she yells at him to put the body down. Kurt takes Clark’s left arm and together they attempt to drag the man out of the lab and into the sunlight. The other members of the league (Dinah looks angry) They lay the body on the grass and Kurt takes off his leather jacket to drape it over Clark’s body. It’s a feeble attempt at privacy, but one the much more modest man would appreciate when he awoke.

“He’s dead, Kurt,” Batman says.  
Kurt doesn’t remember ever hearing the natural timbre of his voice. It has a soft edge to it and in normal circumstances, he thinks he might even like it.

“You are all _liars_ ,” Kurt grounds out.

“Why is his body not in his coffin?” Aquaman asks Diana.

Hal and Barry purposefully stand near Clark’s body. Kurt gets in the Bat’s face.

“You enabled her! To manipulate me, to manipulate all of us,” Kurt says as he gestures towards the rest of them,

“We couldn’t allow the body to lay in the dirt, Kurt,” the Bat says. “Lex would have come and dug the body up. W didn’t tell you about where we placed him because it really wasn’t any of your business.”

Kurt sees red.  “My husband isn’t my business?”

“He is not your husband,” Diana says.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Hal yells. “Seriously, back the fuck off.”

A ring of protective green energy circles around Clark’s body. Barry crouches into a stance. Kurt knows he’s prepared to run off with Clark’s body if he has to.

Diana flies above the ring and Ollie calls for her to come down.

“Will somebody tell me what’s going on?” Ollie asks the group.

“Hal and Barry have gone rogue,” the Bat says.

Suddenly there is a strained groan and the ground near the body begins to shake.

Clark rises up—Kurt’s favorite leather jacket lies in the grass—and he looks vicious.

“Warrior!” Diana calls, “You have been resurrected in the name of justice! You have been born again, Kal-El!”

There’s a loud sonic boom, and Clark is no longer near them.

“That’s really anticlimactic,” Ollie says.

Kurt hears Barry snicker.

A part of Kurt wants to scream, another part of him wants to cry. He feels intense relief. Clark is alive and _flying_ , and Kurt knows he’ll come home to him eventually, he always has and always will. But Kurt is also so heartbroken that Clark has to come home and pick up the pieces that Diana and Batman broke, and he knows he’ll hold his hand as Clark tries to drink himself drunk.

The league begins to bicker amongst themselves. Kurt is too busy staring up at the sky, his tears flowing freely now. Kurt can hear Aquaman yelling at Diana to tell him the truth and Dinah is yelling at Hal about the “bimbo-witch that dressed up like me!”

Kurt doesn’t care about anything. He doesn’t care about the chaos, he doesn’t care about their immature distrust. He only cares about the man he loves. Kurt turns back to the car. He opens the door and sits in the seat. He’ll wait for Clark to return. He’ll wait forever if he has to.

* * *

 

It takes 30 minutes for Clark to come back. He’s dressed in the spare uniform he hardly ever wears.  Kurt likes this one because it has that sexy high-collar and nice red piping.

In his absence, Kurt has sat in Barry’s car and silently cried. He spent that time calming his nerves and ignoring the arguments ensuing outside the metal doors.

He could hear Diana attempt to defend her and Bruce’s actions (and really, Kurt hasn’t had time to wrap his head around the fact that Bruce Wayne is Batman) but tried to drown out her shrill shrieking.

He knew what he was getting into when he married the Man of Steel.

The day Kurt found out exactly what his husband could do was an interesting one. Clark had planned out how to tell him. He settled on lifting a tractor in the air during a visit to Smallville. Kurt had stared, had laughed, and then screamed. Clark made sure Kurt understood exactly how difficult life would be sometimes—but now Kurt was thanking every star in the galaxy that his husband was an alien from another planet. Otherwise, Clark would be permanently dead, and Kurt was so fucking grateful he wasn’t.

Clark hovers in the air before he slowly comes to the ground. Kurt climbs out of the Tahoe but stays a decent distance away. He wants to make sure Clark is _Clark_ before he goes running up to him.

“Clark!” Hal screams.

Clark opens his mouth and closes it several times. He flies over to where Hal is standing.

“Where’s Kurt?” Clark asks.

And like a rocket, Kurt is running, running towards his husband, running towards the only man he’s ever truly loved. Clark takes him in his arms and Kurt doesn’t even notice they’re hovering off the ground or that he’s crying. Clark smells like sagewood and tea tree oil—he smells like _home—_ and Kurt is babbling things in Clark’s ear and Clark laughs. It’s warm and hearty and Kurt feels its impact all the way down to his toes.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Kurt says—over and over so Clark never forgets it. Later that night Kurt knows he’ll scribe it into the bones of Clark’s soul, but for now? This is enough.

“Hey _superstar_ ,” Clark says, “I love you too. Why are you crying, baby?”

They’re on the ground again and Barry is by their side. “Clark! Oh man, Clark! Gosh, bro. You were dead, dead, bro. And-and Diana was being really rude and weird and she kept you in CADMUS, man. Weird huh? Kurtie was big sad. So was I but I had Hal and your Ma was sad too and—”

“I was dead? Pardon? What do you mean I was dead?” Clark looks between both Barry and Kurt.

“Kal El!” Diana says, “I see your resurrection has not been completed! ”

“Resurrection? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I was in a coma, Di’. Kryptonian stasis mode. I just needed sunlight. What resurrection? Baby, stop crying please.” Clark directs that last bit to Kurt. Kurt hasn’t been able to stop sobbing since Clark’s come back and now he laughs a bit.

“I buried you, Clark! I buried you and your Mom held my hand. Diana and Bru-uce said you were dead!”

“Bruce? How do you—? Oh, Kurtie. Baby, I’m sorry you went through that.”

Clark gathers Kurt in his arms and rubs soothing circles on his back as Kurt tries to collect himself. He’ll be embarrassed about the breakdown in front of senior members of the league later.

“Listen, man, glad you’re not dead. You can deal with their fuck-up later.  I’m going home,” Aquaman says as he turns around and begins the walk to the Batplane.

“I’m uh—gonna’ need a ride. Obviously,” he says.

“Kent, I’m sorry for the confusion,” Bruce says.

If he’s annoyed that Kurt knows his identity, he’s certainly not showing it.

“I only chose to keep your body out of the ground in case our enemies attempted to dig you up.”

Clark hmmphs. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth.

“We’re going home,” he says. “I’ll deal with all of you later.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to end this here, but after writing it for days I decided it had too many loose ends. Expect a part three probably months from now lmao. 
> 
> CATCH ME ON INSTAGRAM @mysticforceblue
> 
> Also, I finally paid for DC Universe and I really wanna' try writing some Terry Mcginnis or some Doom Patrol.

**Author's Note:**

> First in a set of pieces, I'm doing to experiment. Not set in the same universe as my WIP Klark fic. 
> 
> Second part will be up in the next few days, it'll be the conclusion and the reunion. 
> 
> The title comes from Oingo Boingo! <3  
> *** IMPORTANT LINKS **** 
> 
> INSTAGRAM: @mysticforceblue  
> FACEBOOK: @itsfrantastic  
> SNAPCHAT: @flowerfran 
> 
> Follow me on social media for updates regarding my fic, original work (a website will be up soon), and my upcoming youtube channel!


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